Chapter 48 - The Scent of Roasted Beans
We didn't run down the haul road. We doubled back through the timber toward the ridge summit, where Eleanor's command SUV was idling near the burning remains of my cabin.
The rain had turned into a heavy, freezing mist. The mercenary team had scattered back toward the logging trails, realizing that the digital accounts they were hired to secure had been frozen by federal intercept orders.
Only one person remained by the vehicle.
Eleanor Holloway stood on the edge of the gravel drive, wearing an ivory wool coat that had cost more than my first two years of college tuition. Her silver hair was damp, plastered against her cheekbones. In her right hand, she held a small silver pistol; in her left, absurdly, was a paper Starbucks cup she had picked up from a highway rest stop on her drive up from Richmond.
"I knew you'd be hiding in the trees," Eleanor said toward the shadows, not knowing exactly where we were. "You always were a feral child, June. While Claire was learning etiquette, you were out here digging in the dirt like a peasant."
May you like
I stepped out of the hemlocks into the clearing, the burning embers of my family's cabin casting long, dancing shadows across her face.
"Drop the gun, Eleanor," I said.
